


Unintentional

by triste



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 03:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triste/pseuds/triste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryouta looks sorely tempted, but he shakes his head. “No, no, no,” he croaks out, dragging his gaze longingly over Tetsuya’s naked body. “The bed. We need the bed.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unintentional

Title: Unintentional  
Author: Triste  
Fandom: Kuroko no Basuke  
Pairing: Kise/Kuroko  
Rating: NC-17  
Status: Complete  
Disclaimer: Not mine

~~

It’s been almost a month since Tetsuya left work. He’s starting to get tired of being at home on his own all day. He’s starting to get fed up of not being able to do whatever he wants. More than that, however, he’s starting to get annoyed with being so heavily pregnant. It’s like Kagami turned into his mother as soon as he found out Tetsuya was expecting. He visits at least three times a week just to make sure Tetsuya is getting proper meals, but his appetite is about the only thing about him that hasn’t changed, even though he’s supposed to be eating for two. And when Kagami isn’t there in person to cook for him, he’s on the phone saying things like “you *are* eating, right?” and “it doesn’t matter if you’re not hungry, you have to eat something” and “seriously, just eat your damn food.”

Ryouta isn’t much better. He seems to have regressed to being fifteen years old again, the way he fawns over Tetsuya with an obsession that borders on unhealthy (and, if they weren’t already married, illegal). He can’t get enough of the little penguin-style waddle Tetsuya has begun to adopt, now that he’s getting too big to walk normally, and it makes him come out with comments such as “you’re so adorable I could die!” and “are you trying to kill me with cuteness?”

Without him, though, the house seems far too quiet. Tetsuya doesn’t have work to keep him occupied anymore, so he at least tries to pass the days with chores (and because, although he likes Momoi a lot, she smothers him almost as much as Ryouta, and the way she gets all broody whenever she sees Tetsuya’s baby bump leaves Aomine nervous that she’s going to pester him for kids of her own very soon).

Still, it’s probably good that Ryouta isn’t around, Tetsuya tells himself. He’d never get anything at all done then, so he tries not to think about how he’s missing him. Anyway, it’s absurd. Ryouta isn’t that far away. He refuses to leave the country in case Tetsuya needs him for any reason, or in case he won’t get to be there for the arrival of their first child. His job as a model takes him all over the world, depending on the kind of photo shoots he’s doing, but he hates having to leave Tetsuya for too long. Although Tetsuya insists there’s no reason for him to worry, Ryouta does it regardless. 

Tetsuya is surprised Ryouta hasn’t called him yet. Then again, he’s only been gone a couple of hours, but he has a tendency of either phoning or sending him text messages relentlessly, most of which Tetsuya ignores. 

Today, however, is different. It’s more than feeling bored. It’s more than feeling lonely. It’s...

Again, Tetsuya turns his thoughts to something else, and decides that doing the laundry will be a good distraction.

It takes some manoeuvring to get the laundry basket from their bedroom downstairs to the utility room, with the obstacle Tetsuya has been carrying around for the past eight months making a simple task more difficult than usual. 

As though reading his mind, the baby inside of him makes its presence felt by choosing that moment to move around, and Tetsuya sighs, rubbing his belly briefly. The sensation (so strange at first, but now so familiar) reminds him of Ryouta, how he seems to have developed telepathic powers where he calls Tetsuya just when he wants to hear the sound of his voice. Checking the cell phone in his pocket just to make sure that it’s working and fully charged, Tetsuya dismisses the pang of disappointment. He knows all he has to do is ring Ryouta himself and he’d be home in a heartbeat, but that would be ridiculous. 

He’s fine. He can cope.

But that’s before Tetsuya starts loading the machine with clothing, before he drops one of Ryouta’s shirts. Steadying himself with one arm, Tetsuya manages to lean so the side and hook his fingertips around the material, picking it up that way instead of kneeling down like he would if only he wasn’t four weeks away from giving birth. He supposes he could get on the floor if he tried, but he’s not so sure he’d be able to get back up.

Smoothing out the creases in the shirt (which is pointless, seeing as he’s only going to have to iron it once it’s been washed), Tetsuya lifts it to his face with a sigh. He closes his eyes, breathing in Ryouta’s scent, but then he bites his lip, brow furrowing as he feels the heat suddenly start to pool in his lower body. This, Tetsuya recalls, is something else that’s changed since he became pregnant. It only worsens the further along he gets, and he hasn’t told Ryouta yet because, well, he’d never be able to leave the bed, never mind the house (and Aomine already insists on driving him everywhere, even though Tetsuya can still walk, albeit more slowly than he would like, but nobody seems to listen when he declares that he’s with child, not an invalid). 

All of his senses are far more heightened now, but it’s not just that. He’s more easily stimulated, more easily aroused, and it’s really kind of crazy that he’s starting to get turned on simply by sniffing Ryouta’s shirt. 

He can’t help it. Pregnancy is making him horny.

Not bothering with any more attempts at denial, Tetsuya gives in to desire.

He wants Ryouta. More importantly, he wants sex.

Raising the hem of his oversized t-shirt (XXL size, because it’s the only thing that fits him comfortably anymore – he absolutely refuses to buy maternity clothes – and he’d rather wear a baggy tee that reaches his knees than a dress, no matter how unappealing Ryouta wails it is), Tetsuya brings Ryouta’s shirt to his chest, gasping as he rubs it against his over sensitised nipples. He imagines Ryouta’s mouth on them, imagines him licking and biting and sucking, and a moan escapes his throat. 

The urge to touch himself is too strong to resist. 

Sliding a hand under the waistband of his track pants (which are nearly as roomy as his t-shirt), it gets within mere millimetres of his cock when his cell phone suddenly buzzes. The way it vibrates makes him moan again, louder this time, and his fingers shake as he pulls it out to look at the caller ID.

It’s Ryouta’s.

Hesitating, unable to decide whether or not to answer, Tetsuya thinks, what the hell, and accepts the call.

“Hello?” he says, somewhat breathlessly.

“Hi!” Ryouta’s voice greets him with typical enthusiasm. “How’re you doing?”

“Um,” Tetsuya says, wondering how he ought to put this. “I’m fine. How about you?”

“I’d be better if there hadn’t been a problem with the lightening equipment, and that means delays for at least the next couple of hours, and that probably means I’ll be home late tonight.”

“Oh.” Dismayed, Tetsuya’s fingers wander southwards again.

“I’m sorry! Really, I am! I wish I weren’t stuck here when I could be with you instead. I’m running low on Tetsuya love. I need a recharge!”

“Hmm.” Tetsuya only half listens as Ryouta continues talking, curling his hand around his cock, but he forgets to answer during the next pause in their (one-sided) conversation.

“You okay?” Ryouta asks, a note of anxiety creeping into his voice. “Hey, are you still there?”

Tetsuya gasps without meaning to, and he follows it up with an equally unintentional whimper as he tightens his grip on himself. “Ryouta,” he says, voice strained, “I...”

“Wait,” says Ryouta, incredulous. “Are you...?”

“Mm,” is all Tetsuya can manage.

It’s embarrassing, and it makes Tetsuya feel guilty, but it’s so, so sexy.

The seconds tick by by, before Ryouta tells him, “Stay right where you are. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Tetsuya would have been content just with phone sex (content, yes, satisfied, no), and he has no intention of dragging Ryouta away from work, as much as he would like to, because he knows he shouldn’t be selfish and whimsical, but Ryouta has already hung up on him.

It doesn’t take long for the feeling of irresponsibility to turn into excitement, but then Tetsuya remembers that it could be almost another half an hour before Ryouta gets back, and he wonders if he can hold on.

There are other things he can do, he realises, that will save both time and effort, plus it’ll be another way in which to enjoy himself while also whiling away the minutes. 

True to his word, Ryouta flings the front door open exactly nineteen minutes and fifty six seconds later, and Tetsuya is there waiting for him. Ryouta’s eyes widen in shock, pupils dilating.

“Oh god,” he groans. “You look like...”

Like he wants to be fucked, Tetsuya hopes, and just in case Ryouta still has any reservations, he suggests, “We could do it here in the entranceway.”

Ryouta looks sorely tempted, but he shakes his head. “No,” he croaks out, dragging his gaze longingly over Tetsuya’s naked body. “The bed. We need the bed.” 

He looks like he doesn’t know where to touch first, so Tetsuya helps him out by turning around and bracing himself against the wall, canting his hips, as much as he’s able to. “One thing we don’t need,” he says, lifting his ass in invitation, “is the lube. I saw to that already.”

Nearly falling over himself to get to Tetsuya, Ryouta’s left hand goes to Tetsuya’s hip, the other to his ass. His fingers slip inside smoothly, with no resistance, and they both moan at the feel of it. 

“Come on,” Tetsuya pleads, pushing back against him. “Hurry up.”

Ryouta makes a strangled sound, and Tetsuya smiles, pleased. He knows how much Ryouta gets off on him fingering himself. It’s just a shame he wasn’t there to actually watch.

Taking in a deep breath, Ryouta succeeds in calming down enough to repeat, firmly, “Bed. *Now*.”

Tetsuya isn’t about to argue, although he would prefer it if they could have sex there and then. 

They make their way upstairs, Ryouta stripping out of his suit as they go, not caring where he drops it or that he’ll get in trouble with his agency for ruining such a ludicrously expensive outfit. As soon as the door shuts behind them and Tetsuya’s back hits the mattress he’s there, kissing him like he hasn’t seen him in weeks, like he’s ravenous for him, like he can’t get enough of him. Tetsuya makes eager little noises into his mouth, gasps “more, more” and “please”.

Ryouta moves down to lavish attention on his belly, kissing it like he’s worshipping some sort of deity, but he’s always been like that, even before he got Tetsuya pregnant, and it’s humbling that Ryouta still thinks so highly of him, that sex, for him, is still something he considers to be precious, almost sacred, just like their wedding vows.

“I love you,” he says, over and over. “I love you so much.”

“Shh,” Tetsuya soothes, beckoning him close. “Come here.”

And Ryouta does, his lips trailing a path along the nape of Tetsuya’s neck, damp with sweat, leaving a mark behind when he moves to his spine as Tetsuya settles onto his side, hooking a thigh over Ryouta’s hip and sighing blissfully as he slides inside with a single stroke. They fall into an easy, practised rhythm together, but it’s not enough. Ryouta is too careful, too gentle, and Tetsuya finds himself yearning for the days when they could do this in any position, when he could still wrap his legs around Ryouta’s waist without the swell of his stomach getting in the way, when sex could be as vigorous as they liked.

Noticing his frustration, Ryouta asks, concerned, “What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” Tetsuya laments, grunting at the fluttery sensation of movement in his belly as the baby stirs again, wondering vaguely if it can hear what they’re doing and if it’ll end up traumatised when it’s older, but it’s kind of sexy, too, because it feels so good. “I need more.” Mind made up, he orders, “Ryouta, pull out.”

“What?” Clearly reluctant, Ryouta doesn’t do as he’s told immediately, but then his jaw drops as Tetsuya gets awkwardly off the bed and onto the floor, on his knees with his forearms resting on the mattress.

“Like this,” he explains.

Hesitating, Ryouta stops to consider the safety of their child. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” There won’t be any pressure on his stomach, not here, and it’ll be better than before. Tetsuya is sure of it. “Oh god, yes.”

It’s all the encouragement Ryouta needs to get back into position behind him, but he doesn’t pick up where they’d left off, not right away, and Tetsuya remembers it’s because he likes the way he feels when he’s been fucked open, fingers tracing around where he’s been stretched around Ryouta’s cock. Ordinarily, Tetsuya wouldn’t mind indulging in his fascination, but he doesn’t have the patience for it this time. 

“Ryouta,” he implores, restless, shifting his hips, “*please*.”

Helpless to resist Tetsuya when he’s reduced to begging so shamelessly, Ryouta gives him what he wants, rocking into him, his strokes rough and earnest, and it’s fantastic, it’s exactly what Tetsuya has been missing. Ryouta reaches down to splay his fingers over Tetsuya’s belly, possessive, before curling them around his cock, jerking insistently until Tetsuya comes with a sob, feeling Ryouta’s body tense and shudder at his back, the sharp sting of teeth on his shoulder as Ryouta muffles his moan. 

Somehow, Ryouta manages to drag them both up onto the mattress, and he’s grinning like an idiot while Tetsuya just wants to fall asleep.

“Pregnancy,” he declares, “is the best thing ever, if it makes you this slutty. Honestly, let’s have more kids. I think we need another twelve or so.”

Tetsuya may not be in any condition to hit him with an Ignite Pass, but he can at least smother Ryouta into unconsciousness.


End file.
